


Chaos Theories

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [9]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spur of the moment date leads to some deep metaphysical discussions for Joyce and Ethan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strange Attractors

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Sadbhyl. Beta'd by Mydeira.
> 
> The second chapter contains borderline non-con elements and violence. This is by far one of the darkest installments of the Menageaverse, but also one of the strongest.

Sunlight was fading as Joyce finished the last of the month end paperwork. She sighed. Nothing else to distract her from her worry. She powered down the computer, locked up the desk and the files and grabbed her jacket and purse.  
  
She was just about to start locking down the gallery proper when the door chime rang. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face the customer, “but we’re just about to...”  
  
The tall, lean man standing there just smiled. “Good evening.”   
  
“Ethan.” She smiled, setting her things down on the counter. “It’s good to see you again.”  
  
“You look radiant as always, Joyce.”  
  
She took his hands and kissed him lightly, almost chastely, on the mouth. “Not that I’m not glad you’re here, but you could come by the house, you know.”  
  
He shrugged. “Too much potential there for unexpected visitors who are less than interested in my wellbeing.”   
  
“Not the least of them being Rupert.”  
  
“Speaking of your consort,” he glanced over his shoulder, “are we likely to have a repeat performance?”   
  
She shook her head. “He and Buffy are off dealing with the end of the world again.”  
  
He smiled wickedly. “Oh, mayhem and destruction, my favorite. Any hope for it?”   
  
She shrugged. “I never know. I get the phone calls that say ‘Hey, Mom, off to fight the apocalypse. I’ll see you in a couple of days if we aren’t all dead and stuff.’ So now I wait. I think I liked it better when I didn’t know what she was doing.”  
  
“Well, it would be a shame for the world to come to an end and for us to die hungry.”  
  
She tried to twist her brain around his sentence. “I beg your pardon?”  
  
He offered his arm. “Have dinner with me.”  
  
“Dinner?” She smiled. “That’s hardly our style.”  
  
“Live dangerously.”   
  
She felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach. “Why not? Just let me lock up.”  
  
“I await your pleasure.”   
  
And that set her heart racing.  
  


***

  
  
The small Thai restaurant was quiet for a Tuesday night. They made meaningless small talk over the menu before placing their orders. The waiter took their menus and came back a few moments later with a bottle of white wine that he poured out for them before disappearing again.  
  
He picked up his goblet and saluted her. “To the end of the world. Either its coming or its prevention.”  
  
She laughed and toasted, sipping the dry wine before setting her glass back down. “I’ve been wanting to ask you. What is the appeal of Chaos?”  
  
He swallowed with a grin. “Oh, but my dear! Chaos is the most powerful force in existence. Good and evil pale in the face of it. It has existed since the very first. ‘In the beginning, the universe was without form and void.’ Chaos starts all things, and chaos is how all of them end. Throughout the ages, it has been feared and revered. Almost every culture on the planet has some sort of trickster god, to appease and placate the chaos energies surrounding them.”  
  
“Primitive religions, you mean.”  
  
“Not hardly! Even Christianity has its trickster in Satan. The entire story of Job is one enormous practical joke Satan played on God at Job’s expense.” He leaned forward, warming to his subject. “Even science is coming to revere chaos, trying to give meaning to the meaningless to understand the universe. Quantum mechanics, chaos theory, it’s all just a different means of trying to appease the wildness. Feigenbaum is no better off than the first poor sot that came out of the cave and said there, that is the thing that makes everything go wrong. We should either worship it or kill it.”  
  
“I doubt it’s as pervasive as all that.”  
  
“No? Have you ever driven by an accident on the carriageway and been compelled to slow down and gawk even though it meant almost getting hit? Or watched one of those appalling home video programs and laughed at someone being hurt even though you were horrified? Or,” his voice deepened as he covered her hand with his, his thumb brushing over the back of her wrist, “have you ever been making love, building up to a really good orgasm, I mean an incredible, mind blowing release, and at that last moment, just before you come apart, have you felt your whole body expand to fill the room, the whole universe, and wonder for a split second if you might not be able to come back together?”  
  
Her heart pounding at the sensuality of his words, she simply shook her head.  
  
“Well, now, that’s a real crime.” But his eyes made such promises. . .   
  
She was spared the reply she couldn’t make by the arrival of the food. She pulled herself together as the waiter laid out their dishes, smiling softly at him, feeling the whole time Ethan’s eyes on her. “I feel like you’re about to devour me whole,” she said when they were alone again, not lifting her eyes from her plate.   
  
“Now there’s a lovely notion,” his voice rumbled, low and enticing.  
  
“Eat your dinner first.”  
  
He barked a short laugh and picked up his fork.  
  
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. “So you decided to worship it.”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“You said mankind had to choose to worship chaos or kill it. And you chose to worship it.”  
  
“Well, not all of it, certainly. Chaos is vast, and while I may contain multitudes, I’m not that expansive. No, I took an avatar, a patron. Janus.”  
  
“The Roman god of gateways. The orchestrator of all things.”  
  
He looked impressed. “Perfect marks for Summers. Janus gives the energy form, limits, so that I can work it to my will.”  
  
“But I don’t understand. How can you make something so uncontrollable do anything, let alone what you want it to?”  
  
“Even the wildest river can be diverted temporarily to support human purposes. It is just a matter of shaping it through the right forms, in this case spells and invocations and the like.”  
  
“What was the purpose of the Halloween stunt?”  
  
“No purpose.” He swallowed a forkful of rice noodles. “That was simply worship. My way of giving back to the chaos that made me.”  
  
She studied him quietly, wrapping her brain around all he’d said. Finally she said, “Rupert keeps warning me not to trust you.”  
  
“And he’s absolutely right, my dear. I’m a very, very bad man, intent on sowing as much mayhem and confusion as is possible before moving on.”   
  
“Is that why you keep coming back?”  
  
“Well, you must admit, even if the flesh weren’t as appealing as it certainly is, the possibilities inherent in bedding a Watcher and the mother of a Slayer would be difficult to resist.”  
  
She set her fork down, dropping her napkin next to it. “So this is about Buffy.”  
  
He grinned in amusement and shook his head. “Hasn’t got a damn thing to do with the girl. Lovely though she is.” He rested a forearm on the table, leaning in to bring their faces within mere inches of each other. “You don’t comprehend, Joyce, the forces that come together in you. The Catholics celebrate as a day of holy obligation the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. But it is not the Christ’s conception they are honoring, but Mary, the mother’s. For only from such a vessel could the savior be born. You gave birth to a savior, a warrior of the people, nurtured in your womb. You raised her, taught her to be brave and resilient, resourceful, determined. The way she draws people to her, the way she inspires their devotion, all those things come from you. Without those things, she would be just another dead Slayer.”   
  
“Don’t say things like that.”  
  
But he pressed on. “You have such energy swarming under your skin. I can taste it every time I touch you. I could drain you dry, leave you alive but hollow, empty of all the things that make life worth living, channel your essence into my magic and damn you for all eternity. Rupert is absolutely right. You shouldn’t ever trust me. But it isn’t your body that’s in danger, it’s your immortal soul.”  
  
He rose abruptly, pulling out his wallet to cast a handful of bills on the table before offering her his hand. “Come on.”  
  
She took it, letting him guide her from the restaurant. “Why?”  
  
“Because truth is one of the most powerful expressions of chaos, and one I’m less used to handling. I want to see you home safe before I go find some way to channel all this extra energy.”


	2. Dynamical Instabilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce gets a good hard look at the forces of Chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Sadbhyl. Beta'd by Mydeira.
> 
> Again, this chapter contains borderline non-con elements and violence.

Joyce gave Ethan the keys to the Cherokee, let him drive her home. She could see his hands clutch and release the wheel over and over, his eyes darting around as though he were seeing more than the physical world around them. She didn’t touch him, but didn’t shy away from him either, just gave him time to pull himself together.   
  
By the time he stopped the car in her driveway, his breathing had settled, but his knuckles remained white on the wheel. She got out and came around to his door. He climbed out as well, very stiff, very restrained. Very unlike the irrepressible bastard he usually was. “Ethan,” she said quietly, laying a hand on her arm.  
  
He flinched away.  
  
That hurt more than it should have. “You don’t have to go. Come inside. I’m sure between us we can find something to do with that energy.”  
  
He gave her a painful grimace of a smile. “It’s not that kind of energy, my dear. And pleasant as it sounds, staying here would be a very bad idea.”  
  
“Why, are you going to turn me into a toad?”  
  
His barked laugh sounded forced. “Not in the literal sense, no.”  
  
She put her hand on his arm again, squeezing so he couldn’t throw her off again. “Then stay.”  
  
“Joyce.” His eyes closed in suffering, and he swallowed before looking at her again, his eyes gone ominously dark. “I’m not the gentleman that Ripper is. It really would be better if I just went.”   
  
She felt anger rise up inside of her. “I’m tired of the two of you treating me like old china. This is a part of you, and I deserve to know about it.”   
  
“You want to know?” He grabbed her by the back of the hair and jerked her to him. “You want to know what I do to the whores I go to when I’m like this?” He spun her around to slam her up against the car door, the handle jamming into the small of her back, making her cry out. He smiled at the sound, a satisfied, contemptuous expression on his now-florid face. He ground against her and she could feel how hard he was. “Do you want to hear how I fuck them raw for hours, how I leave them limp and aching and used, and how if that one isn’t enough, I send her away and call for another one? Is that what you want to be, Joyce? A used up, discarded whore?”  
  
“Do you kill them?” She forced down the panic she felt rising.  
  
“No.” He scented along the length of her neck, rolling his hips against hers.  
  
“Do you put them in the hospital?”  
  
He inhaled her hair. “Not intentionally.”  
  
She pulled back and met his eyes fearlessly. “Then stay.”   
  
He slammed his mouth over hers, her head locked in place by his grip on her hair. His other hand grabbed the front of her blouse and tore, letting the scraps fall from his fingers.   
  
“We could at least go inside,” she murmured against his demanding kiss.  
  
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, but jerked her towards the front porch by her hair and her arm. “Open it,” he insisted when they were stopped by the locked door.  
  
She fumbled the keys, and he jerked her head. “Faster.”  
  
Somehow the key finally slid home and she opened the door. He shoved her hard, and she stumbled across the foyer, catching herself on the third step. He was right behind her. “Hold still.” He held her down on the step as he shoved her skirt up over her back and ripped her panties away. “Perfect.” And with one smooth motion, he rammed himself inside.   
  
She cried out, bracing herself on the stair as he pistoned into her, driving her shoulder against the riser. The pain flashed through her and a wash of fear, and behind it a wave of pleasure tinged with shame. Ethan’s fingers digging into her hip, his cock pummeling away in her pussy regardless of her own pleasure, all reduced her to a purely submissive creature. And she loved it, gave herself over to it. To him.  
  
It wasn’t long before he came, shooting hard deep inside her. He held her locked in place around his shaft as he gulped in fresh breath, then slid out of her, turning her around and pushing her to her knees. “Look at the mess you made, bitch. Clean it up.”  
  
Joyce met his gaze, then dropped her eyes yieldingly to begin licking their mingled secretions off his shaft. She made soft sounds of pleasure as she worked, hoping it would please him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead he gripped the back of her head and forced his way between her lips to carelessly begin fucking her mouth.  
  
She fought down the panic, forced herself to relax and let him thrust deeper and faster, holding still and letting him have his way. Her jaw ached, her mouth ran with saliva by the time he shot down her throat in long choking spurts. He pushed her away, knocking her hard into the newel post, his chest heaving, his eyes dark. “Acceptable, I suppose. Upstairs. Now.”  
  
She turned without question to climb the stairs unsteadily, as quickly as she could, not wanting to risk his anger. She led the way into her room, then stopped next to the bed, uncertain of what to do next.  
  
Ethan brushed past her into the room, looking around disinterestedly. “Undress,” he commanded as he unbuttoned his own shirt, never even looking at her. She did as he ordered, letting the scraps of her top fall to the floor, quickly shimmying out of the skirt and remains of her underwear, her bra joining the pile. She shivered, more in apprehension than chill.  
  
He made Joyce wait as he finished undressing, making a detailed study of the room. When he finished, he turned to her, and she noticed for the first time that his eyes had gone black. Not the usual passion-dilated dark she loved to see, but totally void, blacker than night, absent of all emotion or expression. And Joyce realized just how far in over her head she was. This wasn’t her Ethan, playing power games. This was Ethan Rayne, servant of Chaos, taken over by the power he served. She felt the overwhelming need to run.  
  
She fought it down. She could do this. She just had to do what he said, take what he gave and ride through this. She could do this.   
  
“Well?” He demanded snidely.  
  
She dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t...“  
  
He sighed in frustration. “Get on the bed, you stupid cow.”  
  
She obeyed instantly, kneeling humbly in the center of the mattress, eyes demurely down. He was on her in a moment, grabbing her wrist to twist her away from him, bent over so her face was pressed into the mattress, her ass high in the air. The mattress gave behind her, and she felt his cock, still hard, still hungry as he drove back into her tender cunt. She whimpered, in pain, in excitement, and he growled his satisfaction, wrenching her arm higher up her back, fucking her mercilessly.  
  
His endurance seemed to increase with each orgasm. She was beginning to dry out, each thrust adding to a slowly building painful burn before he grunted and came again, the slippery ejaculate soothing on her raw skin. He pulled out, still incredibly hard, and, never releasing her, adjusted his angle to ram his full length up her ass.  
  
This time she screamed, the pain of intrusion overwhelming. He laughed and took up a fierce pace, pummeling into her tight hole as the pain faded and was replaced by a euphoric trance. He released her arm to grab her hair again, her tender scalp screaming at the abuse as he used his hold to lever her upright, changing the angle of penetration. She keened softly, and even she couldn’t tell if it was from pain or pleasure.  
  
He moved faster and faster as his release approached, and she relaxed as much as she could, not wanting to interfere in any way. She felt him hitch and pull her hard against his hips, three sharp, short jerks before shuddering with a roar.  
  
He dropped her on the mattress, finished with her for now, and she lay there gratefully, not moving, not making a sound. She heard him moving about, hoped she heard him cleaning himself up.   
  
He slapped her back hard, the growing bruise from the car door handle aching at the rough use. “Get up,” he demanded, and she instantly responded.  
  
He pulled her to him and for the first time since the car he kissed her, his teeth cutting into her lower lip as he ground his mouth against hers. But she was too numb to respond and he gave up, turning her to pull her against him, his unrelenting hard-on probing yet again. She couldn’t even tell which orifice he thrust into, only that he was inside her, that she was full of him. Everything else was a soft, comforting gray.  
  
And that’s when she felt it.  
  
A subtle, almost imperceptible pull from the middle of her torso, just below her ribs. It felt as though fine tendrils were being unwound from all parts of her body to thread through a fine hole in her center and be drawn out of her.  
  
And she realized what he was doing.  
  
She slammed her head back and heard a horrific crunching sound, didn’t hesitate as she jammed her elbow back, knocking him away. She used the impetus to push herself into the wall, grabbing down the ceremonial blade hanging there, turning to ward him off. “I said you could have my body. The rest of it is mine.”   
  
He paced forward, his lips curled back, black eyes narrow, nose running crimson. “You think you can stop me with that trinket?” His normally lyrical voice was gravely, harsh, full of hate. “I take what I want and use it how I will, and you are powerless to...”   
  
She took two steps forward and rammed her knee up into his groin. She saw the sudden explosion of pain flood his system, his balls already sensitive from release after release, and he dropped like crumpled paper.   
  
She stood over him, sword at the ready, her breath coming in heavy gulps. When he didn’t move, she sunk down on the bed. It took her a moment to realize her hands were shaking. She rose and grabbed the robe off the back of the door, slinging it around her shoulders without taking her eyes off of him. As an afterthought, she pulled the afghan off the chair and spread it over him. Then she sat down in the vanity chair where she could watch his face and waited for him to come to.  
  
It took about twenty minutes before he groaned softly. She tensed, fingers clutched around the hilt of the primitive blade. But when he opened his eyes, she was relieved to see they were back to their normal sharp brown. She knelt next to him. “Are you okay?”  
  
He rolled onto his back, wincing. “I’ll live. Rupert’s beat me up worse than that for less.”   
  
“What was that? I felt something...” She laid her hand over her ribs.  
  
“Solar plexus charka. It’s the source of will, of action. You were fighting your instincts so hard, yours was wide open. It was the easiest to steal the energy through.”  
  
“And now?”  
  
He pushed himself to a half sitting position. “You’re safe now. I’m in control again.”  
  
She sighed and sank in relief, dropping the sword. They were silent until finally she rose to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower.”  
  
She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, closing her eyes against the welter of images and emotions flying around in her head. After a moment, she crossed over and started the water running in the tub, adjusting it to a soothing tepid flow before turning on the spray and stepping in.  
  
As the water first hit the sensitive bruises flowering over her skin, she hissed softly. The water seeped through her hair to soothe her inflamed scalp. Slowly she began to relax.  
  
Only to jump with a soft scream when he drew back the curtain and stepped in.  
  
“It’s alright,” he said soothingly, his hands gentle on her arms. “You’re quite safe. I just want to make certain you weren’t hurt too badly.” He studied her slowly, mapping every mark with his eyes and his fingers before turning her gently to do the same to the other side. “You may want to put a compress on this,” he gingerly touched the car door bruise. “But at least there’s no blood.”   
  
“Unless you count my lip.”  
  
He turned her with just as much care and very tenderly kissed her swollen lip. Then he took down her bottle of body wash and squirted a dollop into his hand, rubbing it to full lather before gently washing her with it.  
  
His touch was as soothing as the cool water, slippery and soft, leaving not a single part of her body untouched. Arms, shoulders, breasts, stomach, thighs, all were lovingly attended. Then he turned her and repeated the pattern on her back and buttocks and legs, all the way down to her feet. When he finished, he rose up again and drew her back to lean against his chest, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close, gently caressing her breasts and stomach. His right hand coasted lower, and she tried to move away. “No more, please.”  
  
“Shh, my sweet, this is just for you. It won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”  
  
With the cool water raining down on her torso, he gently let his fingers skirt around her labia, softly stroking her to sensitivity, holding her gently and murmuring comforting incoherencies in her ear. This was her lover come back to her, and she relaxed and let the soft pleasures of water and release wash over her.   
  
He toweled her off gently and sent her back into the bedroom, following right behind. When he began to dress, she stopped him. “What are you doing?”  
  
“This is the part where I make my graceful exit.”  
  
“I’d rather not be alone tonight. Not after...”  
  
“Fine. I’ll call Rupert.”   
  
“I don’t want him. Not tonight.” She saw something flash behind his eyes. Guilt? Remorse? “Please, just come to bed.”  
  
He stepped close and gathered her gently in his arms. “Whatever my lady commands.”


	3. Emergent Properties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Sadbhyl. Beta'd by Mydeira.

Morning came quietly to find them curled around each other in sleep. As Joyce awoke, she could hear the steady cadence of Ethan’s heart below her cheek as he held her protectively. She smiled. He hadn’t snuck out while she’d been asleep. Progress, maybe?   
  
“Good morning,” his chest rumbled as he spoke against her hair. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
“I did.” She tilted her chin to look at him. “And you?”  
  
“Very comfortably.” He bent down to kiss her gently. “But I really should be going now.”  
  
“Can you stay for breakfast?”  
  
“I might be able to manage that.” His eyes twinkled playfully.  
  
She smiled and extracted herself from bed to don her robe and run a brush through her hair. “Why don’t you clean up and get dressed, and I’ll get things started?”  
  
“You wouldn’t happen to have a razor, would you?”  
  
“In the bottom drawer of the commode. They’re only disposables, though.”  
  
He smiled. “I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.”  
  
“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” She kissed him lightly before heading down to the kitchen.   
  
She had just loaded the coffee filter and put it in the machine when the back door opened and Rupert walked in, holding two scraps of ivory silk in his hand. Her face lit up. “Good morning! You’re just in time for breakfast. How did it go last night?”  
  
“Well, the world didn’t end.” He held up the scraps, looking perplexed. “I found these out by your car. Is everything alright here?”  
  
“It’s fine! What would you like to eat? I can make eggs, or...”  
  
He stepped closer, studying her face. “Joyce, what happened to your lip?”   
  
“My...” She reached up to touch her mouth, found it still swollen and puffy from last night’s rough treatment. “Oh, that’s just...”  
  
She knew the moment he saw the bruise on her shoulder through the loose vee of her robe. She tried to pull it closed, but he reached out and yanked it down, revealing the fist-sized mark from the stair riser. His expression went dark, flat, as he pulled harder, revealing more marks. He turned her around to find the discolorations from the stair post and Ethan’s hands all along her back, topped off by the double-fisted contusion at the small of her back.  
  
“Ethan,” he growled, a hoarse, animalistic menace that made all the hair on her neck stand on end.  
  
Joyce shrugged the robe back up. “Rupert, wait...”  
  
“I’ll bloody well kill the bastard!” And he was gone, through the dining room in an instant.  
  
She ran after him, her bare feet slapping on the floor. “Rupert, no! It’s not like that!” He took the stairs two at a time. “Rupert, stop! Ethan, look out!” she screamed, racing up the stairs behind him.  
  
The bedroom door slammed against the wall just as the bathroom door burst open and Ethan, half dressed and fully aware of the danger he was in, raced out into the hall. Rupert lunged for him, caught him by the shoulder and throat to slam him against the corridor wall before bodily throwing him past Joyce and down the flight of stairs.  
  
Rupert started to follow when Joyce grabbed his arm. “Rupert, leave him alone!”  
  
He grabbed her by the arms and slammed her against the wall with a snarl. The sudden impact on her back sent pain exploding behind her eyes, and she cried out.  
  
Everything froze.  
  
He released her suddenly as if she were fire, backing slowly away. She drew a deep, shaky breath and moved down the stairs to where Ethan lay, conscious but stunned. She put her arms around him, helped him up, throwing a furious glare up the stairs at Rupert.  
  
He looked pole axed. Confusion, guilt, anger all fought for place in his expression, but she didn’t feel up to sympathizing.   
  
“Go home, Rupert,” she said coldly. “We’ll talk when you’ve gotten control of yourself.”  
  
“Joyce, I’m not leaving you alone with him...”  
  
“Get the hell out of my house!”  
  
Both men looked surprised at her vehemence. Rupert slowly descended the stairs and, with one last glare at Ethan, now ensconced on the sofa, he left.  
  
She turned her attentions to Ethan. “Are you alright?”  
  
“I think so. Just a nasty bump on the head.” He winced as he put his hand on the injury. “Don’t judge him too harshly, my dear. He has good reason to think ill of me.”  
  
“I don’t need him to fight my battles for me.” She checked the lump over, but didn’t find any broken skin.  
  
“No, but maybe he needs to. He’s a warrior as well, you know. It can’t be easy for him to be subject to a slip of a girl all the time.”   
  
“It’s no excuse.”  
  
“No, but it’s an explanation. Let it go.”  
  
“I can’t.” She cupped his cheek, looking into his eyes intently. “He has to understand he can’t do that to you.”   
  
“Joyce.” He slipped one loose tendril behind her ear, meeting her eyes sadly. “It’s what you’ve been trying to get him to show you all along.”   
  
She couldn’t respond.  
  


***

  
  
Her UPS delivery on Friday included a package she didn’t have on her order list.  
  
She turned it over gently in her hands. No return label, no markings besides the UPS label.  
  
Nothing rattled when she shook it gently, so she carefully unwrapped the paper to reveal a white cardboard box. Inside this, carefully wrapped in straw and tissue, was a ceramic figure, Native American, stained in dark glaze and highly polished. She recognized it instantly as Kokopelli, a traditional figure in southwestern art.  
  
With it was a card, written in neat script. “A trickster god of your very own. Kokopelli brings spring and rebirth. Hopefully he’ll bring you and Rupert some measure of reconciliation. Of course, Kokopelli also has a detachable penis that he’d float downstream to pleasure the ladies bathing, so perhaps he will bring you something else entirely. If nothing else, I hope he placates the chaos for you.”  
  
It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. She smiled and set it on the front of her desk. She thought about Rupert, who she hadn’t seen since she’d thrown him out of the house Wednesday morning. And she thought about Ethan, who was gone now until he decided to reappear. Then, in a moment of whimsy, she dipped her fingers in her coffee and sprinkled it over the statue. “I have enough chaos in my life, thank you.”


End file.
